The Armonia Chamber

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle had her hand out, ready to recall the staff, when Breaker made it unnecessary. She only had time to raise her bracers and lean to the side. The traitorous weapon hit hard, rocking her arms and lifting her off her feet. She gave a yank on her rope in a desperate attempt to steady herself. Nothing but slack. Her hook slide free of the limp cable and followed her.

Two distractions for nothing! Get him, Arden! she shouted internally as her bare shoulders scraped against the roof and her air was punted out of her. The hook clattered nearby, a faint sound against the whistle of breath rushing raggedly down her throat.

Arden disappeared.

Astarelle blinked. Burn you, blood-drinker! I swear I will-

Suddenly, she realized that the vibrations running through her body weren't just the fanfare of returning air. It's falling! She rolled to her feet, still wheezing. Hot wetness ran in a sheet down her back, and her shoulder blades screamed as if she was a harpy with wings wrenched off. Oh, how grand wings would have been in that moment. But, she had always known the fall was inevitable; the Cell's tribute to the gods of spectacle.

Breaker apparently had the same idea. Without an inch of cable, possibly without an inch of brain, he threw himself off the edge.

“Talen, get clear,” she called to her remaining ally as she capered across the crumbling roof, “I'm following that jihta!” The loose hook bounced behind her like an excited puppy, her staff its slower brother some distance behind. All of her dry sand rolled over the expanse of bare skin and leather, forming a sleeve on her right arm that she wrapped her rope around. Loop by loop, the sand gripped it, locking in the spool.

She reached the edge, braced her knees against the rim, and leered over to take in Breaker's acrobatics. Biting off a curse, she wrapped the slack end of her rope around the parapet's blocky tooth and hooked it back on itself. Cinching it, she ran to the side, leaped onto the corner-most stone, and jumped. Sand-brain, a small part of her quietly swore. The rest of her was riding a lopsided raft in a sea of adrenaline.

Her staff caught up, thonked over the parapet, and smacked into her left hand, forcing her farther out. For just one still-life second, she thought she might actually fly. Then, she fell. The sand-locked spool on her right hand jerked almost immediately, then kicked over and over as she let the rope slip free one turn at a time. The back of her hand sang and reddened as each whip-crack snapped past.

With some crude estimating, she thought that she might be able to swoop onto Breaker... if not for the explosion. She felt the force of it buffet her, challenging the wind of her descent for only half a heart beat. The tower groaned overhead, leaning as if to mock her weight. It crashed against the barrier and jerked her in kind. She struck with her upraised arm first, bruising her ribs but leaving flesh unharmed as she slid. Who know that magical walls were so smooth? She rode the swing, well in Breaker's wake. Sand began to well from her staff and into a spear point. She would catch him if she just swung faster, if she narrowed her body to cut the air, if she pushed off the barrier with her feet.

If she bought more rope.

The last loop of it thrummed off her sandy arm. The loose hook on the end teased her finger tips and laughed a small, whistling laugh as it snapped away from her. For what seemed the hundredth time in one sand-blasted day, Astarelle was a projectile. She didn't have the opportunity to watch the approaching ground as the last tug of her tether spun her to face skyward and the stomach-lurching sight of the tower following her down.

It's over, she lamented. Her whole ordeal culminated in the fluttering fall of a single brown leaf on the wind.

A familiar gauntlet seized her. Her body automatically closed into a fetal position even as her mind staggered. “Arden,” she breathed numbly, the word almost without meaning. His arms cradled her, guiding her... somewhere. She didn't know their destination, but saw the wings of blood sprout to carry them to it. Against the powerful thrusts, her trail of familiar sand stirred and swirled and danced with his blood.

“Arden,” she gasped, now with a vivid, wide-eyed understanding.

Dust stole her sight, her breath. She felt small fragments of rubble strike her flesh, as well as the harder vibrations of larger pieces striking her bearer. They careened through a gauntlet that she could only hear as if a far away storm, with his arms the cave she had taken shelter in.

He held her until the very last moment, when something more solid than mere rubble took his feet from under him. Astarelle flopped to her knees, scraping against some surface she couldn't see, let alone orient herself upon. Somewhere out there, her staff had been thrown, her sand lost. Both called to her, tried to creep toward her. But, she lunged back in Arden's direction instead, staggering, falling. “Are you hurt?” she called into the sun-streaked shroud of mortar and stone.

[Arden]

Five hundred and thirty six years ago, the Forgotten One Oblivion penned a character into history. He took the name Lao Sheng. At the height of his fame, he leapt from a tower in Akashima, the Royal Orrery, to save a falling Lillith Kazumi. Arden remembered the moment with perfect recall, her scream a piercing note of clarity through the ages.

“I…I’m fine!” he shouted. His voice was half-carried away by the density of the cloud. His memories were clouding judgement and vision alike, but rekindled strength within.

The landing tossed him sprawled to the grass, and his wings had vented trails of blood in his wake across the rubble-strewn prairie. He careened through the dust on blind faith, divining strange shapes in the obfuscation in search of Astarelle. His heart pounded, signs of weakness, and his knees trembled with every step. Jensen’s perfect aim had driven the dagger deep, and Arden had been through enough wars to know when an artery severed.

“Where are you?” he shouted louder.

She appeared, and for a moment, she was Akashiman, not Fallieni. Arden skipped a beat, uncertain if he was hallucinating, or if the Cell was finally over.

“I…L…Lillith…,” he trailed off.

In that descent, he had saved his sister. At the end of that day, the Greater Oni had sealed away, exiled, and forgotten by his hand. He had saved the girl, and with the very same blade strapped to his back, he found meaning.

“Astarelle…” he corrected.

He dropped to his knees with a thud. His head span, though not with injury, or with fatigue. The burst of adrenaline as he descended through the tower had exponentially accelerated Draug’s corruption.

“Poisoned…,” he mustered in explanation. Astarelle became two figures, then three, and then he blacked out. His head smashed against the ground in unison with the tumbling rubble of Sei Orlouge’s grand bastion.

Though he had saved the girl, composed by some strange notion of history repeating itself, it was time for the girl to save the boy. His pauldron howled, long and wistful, as though a mastiff nestled his corpse in vigil.

[Roht Mirage]

Arden's assertion that he was -relatively- uninjured, coupled with his dust-caked body emerging from the settling storm, put down the tense ache of Astarelle's anxiety... and uncapped the venom.

“I gave you an opening up there, and you- you just disappeared! Then back at the last moment to save...” she trailed off, uncertain of her own rolling emotions. The man was too erratic to be called a guardian, too chivalrous to be called a bastard. A blood-streaked contradiction.

And a liar. He sank to his knees, muttering something unintelligible.

“Arden?” she asked, wobbling toward him over the rubble. She felt heavy, as if the dust clinging to her bloodied and torn skin was trying to built itself into a new structure. He mumbled something cryptic and delirious about a plague, but she couldn't hear enough to make sense of it. The storm of falling stone still thundered nearby, obscured yet threatening. “Are you-” He slumped forward into the uneven bed of debris. A dagger stuck from his side like a victory banner planted in the center of a killing field. She thought she could hear the mournful howl of his hound, though it might have been the tower's final groans.

She rushed to him, catching her shoe and sprawling at his side. He didn't stir, though she could see his shallow breaths. Final breaths? “Bury me,” she choked out in a puff of dust and grief. He was blasted unreliable; until he was really needed, and then just as quick to expire. He might have been a proper ally in another place and time, somewhere far from the insanity of their bloody game. Maybe, he still could be...

“Arden,” she whispered over his ear, unsure if he could hear her. “There is a battle coming. A real one. I will need all the help I can get. I- I- If you're willing, I would have you as one of my champions.” His only response was to bleed upon her, a mix of his fresh and Draug's stale washing against her bare skin.

His earlier whispered words unwrapped in the back of her mind. She steeled her jaw. I'm not someone you should entrust this to, she responded belatedly to the request that seemed scant minutes and a lifetime ago. Nonetheless, she reached for his sheathed sword. It felt warm against her palm, and the dust provided enough grit that it seemed stuck to her. She drew the beautiful prevalida blade into a two-handed grip and lifted it high, putting all of her weight and strength into the height of its arc. Then, downward. Armor surrendered reluctantly to the impossible edge, and the flesh below yielded like nothing. “Though I stab you in the heart,” she whispered as she leaned upon the blade, suddenly tired, “I am no Kar'Roh. I will not steal it.”

Taking a deep, chalk-filled breath, she forced herself to her feet. Her sand rained down as golden specks amidst the floating grey. The grains took up a slow patrol around her, a shroud of her own.

“I'd better...” She pulled the dagger from Arden's ribs and held it downward in a murderous grip. “Return this.” Dust caked her body, hiding her bare skin, a mixture of dripping blood, and the divine mark over her brow. But it could not hide her grim purpose as she stalked toward the thundering destruction.

[Breaker]

Breaker lost control for the first time in the Armonia Chamber. The enchanted boots had never failed him. Shock slowed his thoughts as he fell, but with the ground racing up he reacted on instinct. Both legs lashed out and struck the Mystic wall in the instant before impact, sending him sideways and downward into the dirt. He tucked for a tactical roll, the maneuver that made him famous in Underwood. Hundreds of villagers had seen him duel the Kron Sha'keth across thatched rooftops. They'd watched him fall from a two story building and rise unscathed, having distributed the force across his shoulders and hips through precise tumbling. He'd been exhausted and weary that night, far more fatigued than the Cell's final round had him. He'd been distracted by cries from the young woman the Aleraran Assassin had held hostage.

But he hadn't been wearing a sword on his back.

Rythadine's dehlar hilt lodged deep in soft ground as he attempted to tumble. The long blade's flat lifted his spine and flipped him forcefully on his face. He plowed a furrow through the dirt 'till his boots met the base of the toppled tower. Chunks of granite showered around him and a smaller stone struck the back of his head. The thunk drowned out falling rubble, cries from his fellow combatants, and even the roar of the crowd. Moist soil invaded his eyes, nose, and mouth, and he respired erratically as a drumroll on an air pump. The greatsword had come free of the scabbard, remaining braced at an angle with the hilt fully buried.

Dust billowed from the broken tower like ash after a volcanic eruption. Within the confines of a dome that let wind in and nothing out, the granulated granite stirred restlessly.

Something wet oozed around Breaker's ears, lacking the familiar red warmth. Even running through his hair and dribbling down his cheek, Breaker's blood felt cold.

Then it froze.

He spun and sat up so swiftly the back of his head knocked against what remained of the tower's eastern wall. The familiar tinkling of shattered ice slithered down his bare back. What's happening to me? He wore a frozen red streak down his cheek like a welt from a lithe lash. Blood crinkled and fell away when he lifted the blue kerchief to cover his nose and mouth. Tentative fingers reached up and back, examining the wound. Josh breathed from his diaphragm to steady his galloping heart. The scalp was split, the skull intact, and a layer of ice stemmed the swelling. That's never happened before. Breaker crafted braces and poultices from ice frequently in battle.

Never by accident.

Cronen drew on his connection to the Eternal Tap and conjured water, to absorb dust from the air and smear camouflage on his skin.

Nothing happened.

There was a split second of indecision. A hundred thousand thoughts and worries spasmed through his mind like an electric current. Had the blow to his skull damaged his brain? He was fine. He felt fine. Bodorson hit him harder than that in training all the time. Never with something so small nor to the back of the head, granted. And his ice magic never misbehaved... but it wasn't hurting him. It had sealed his wound in the exact same he would have, at the same speed. Like a reflex, like kicking himself away from pure vertical impact at the last instant. He tried again to conjure water. This time the failure washed away like receding waves. Joshua Cronen had not possessed a connection with the Tap when he killed the King of the Tiered Mountain in Salvar. He'd known nothing of the arcane arts when he rose amidst the ranks at Dajas Pagoda. And he hadn't needed magic to take down the Genocide Giant with a modified swinging head-scissor.

No icecraft? No problem.

Breaker rolled like a dog in a pile of dust gathered alongside the pitiful remainder of wall. Wind kept it thick within the dome, obscuring vision, but he breathed easily beneath the blue kerchief. Coarse granite grit coated his sweat-slicked arms and torso. His black pants and boots were already smeared and scuffed with the stuff. More had been settling in his hair and clinging to his face and neck since the collapse. He removed his ornamental red belt, the only article that might draw attention, and stashed it amidst the rubble.

Cloaked in the same dust that filled the arena, he crept toward a voice echoing Arden softly. Astarelle, alive somehow. Josh smiled as he slipped from ruined wall to pile of rubble, choosing silence over speed with each step. It would not have boded well if the little scorpion perished so soon. The first time they had met she'd caught him in a wristlock. The swift technique had taken him by surprise, and he'd socked her in the eye on instinct. He no longer felt bad about that - he'd given her a free shot in the Ella Chamber - but he wanted a rematch for the wristlock.

Breaker sneaked through the dust stormed Cell wearing granite camouflage.

Invisible.

Josh is not invisible, merely camouflaged and stealthy. Due to the head wound he can only use the 'encase' function of ice magic for (at least) my next two posts. No flechettes or other nastiness. Other than that nothing has changed about the ability, I'm just playing it like he's lost control.

[Abomination]

Two robed men with dark hoods stood beyond the edge of the barrier, watching the carnage unfold.

One of them turned to the other and asked, "Sir, this may be out of line, but I have to ask: Why did you let Draug go? This is, pardon my Aleran, suicide."

The other one, Memnar, continued to look in, watching what was left of the tower leaning into the barrier, its base collapsed, "You're smarter than that, Kahr. You're my top pupil, the greatest alchemist that I know."

"And yet in my apparent wisdom I fail to deduce why you didn't do to him what you did to them. You've managed to replicate an artificial immortal essence and imbue it into mother's family. Everyone but Draug. Why is that?"

Memnar shook his head, "Draug is a vessel; they are not. He has a part of Cassandra inside of him, she has been made less because of it. Once that essence cultivates, we can use it for the next piece of the puzzle."

"Would not the artificial essence assist in that? Seeing what it did to the likes of Jebb..."

"Don't second guess me!" Memnar snapped. "We would not only lose control of him, but the delicate balance between his existence and Cassandra's essence would be diluted!"

"Then... the normal plan. Won't it eventually make Draug exceed even mother? Even if that would make it ideal for cultivation, the risks are too great."

"Nobody said ascending to godhood would come without a price."

Draug opened his eyes, only seeing due to cracks of light in the debris. There was another troubling lapse in his memory, but it was only a few seconds. He felt around but discovered only large boulders in every direction. The ceiling collapsed on me? He was fortunate in that a protective formation of stone fell around him, giving him a nook to avoid the avalanche, but he was apparently buried. He tried to move the stones above him, pushing so hard that the muscles in his arms were tearing, the skin on his fingers peeling off, but to no avail.

His breath was hoarse, and he was covered in blood from head to toe. The bandages around his body were mostly destroyed, mere bloody scraps that hung off his form. He coughed from the high dust content in the air, feeling as though he was breathing sandpaper. That damn immortal... A pain shot through his mind, the images of Stephanie appearing once more in his mind's eye. Agh, why now...?! She stood in front of a great sandy gorge, overlooking a cliff that descended into eternal darkness. This is... Draug somehow knew what this place was. He slammed his fist into the ground, knowing now that he had a clear destination for when this was over.

First, he had to get out of here. He pulled all of his bombs from his throat, feeling his assimilation of Jensen fading. He lit the fuses by flicking them across the coarse stone, holding the bombs out in front of him. There was no way to escape the explosion, and even then there was no guarantee that this would not just bury him further. He shoved the bombs into the cracks of the rocks above and then grew two extra pairs of arms adjacent to his original two, merging them together to create a limb with triple the thickness. With all of his strength, he lowered the two massive arms down, waiting for the perfect moment, the time when the bombs would explode.

With a roar, he uppercutted the rocks as the bombs exploded, creating a huge blast that blew dust in all directions and scattered stones toward the barrier and the other competitors. Draug emerged from the hole, his entire upper body missing. There was the sound of a droplet hitting a body of water, and his upper half reappeared, the mystical egg inside of him becoming dormant once more. His arms were good as new, his teeth sharper than ever, and he was ready to join the fray once more.

The first thing he did was get some distance from the collapsed tower, and then he vomited a pile of flesh. From it emerged all four of his minions, their bodies made of muscle of bone, their face lacking any features other than an elongated mouth and holes for the nose and ears. Despite the dust obstructing their smell, Draug sent them out to sniff out and attack any enemies they came into contact with. After the action, Draug nearly lost his balance, a nauseating sense of fatigue overwhelming him. He was nearly down to a typical level of blood for a human, which meant he couldn't grow any further body parts. He began looking for his opponents, looking to tear them apart with his bare hands.

A bunch of stones are flying at everyone from the explosion. Also four evil doggies are running around trying to find you all and chew your faces off. I assumed the dust makes specific targeting difficult.

[Breaker]

The Cell's third round kicked the first two in the pantseat.

Jake Narmolanya enjoyed the illusions cast by the Mystics and magicians hired for the purpose. He'd gasped along with the crowd at Breaker's quintuple cable clothesline, hearing the whipping sound as if he were amongst the combatants. Maybe I'll enter the next one, the youth thought, imagining battling the Hound and the Shadowkin for Astarelle's favor. Jake tapped the crosspiece of his liviol tonfa. That Fallien lady made losing a fight look good.

Stacia showed signs of jealousy as they discussed the strange alliance between Cronen's opponents. Ordinarily the red-and-gold haired girl was the damsel surrounded by a support staff of suitors. Meanwhile Master Bodorson puffed on his pipe and muttered about how he couldn't see the duel inside the tower. Stacia had tried to appease him, swooning as the tower shook mightily, admiring the three-on-one fiasco. The dwarf spoke one phrase and went back to his pipe.

If yeh're not watchin' the whole battle, yeh're not watchin' the Cell.

Bodorson had some archaic opinions, especially when it came to tournament combat. And blacksmithing. And swordplay. Not that his skills were any less for it. The ash-and-flame bearded dwarf could best Cronen with a blade, the Thiadores in a forge, and had written several tomes on combat strategy. He and Josh had spent hours discussing which tools the martial artist would carry to battle.

When the tower came down Stacia wound up with all eight fingers in her mouth. It would have been attractive if she hadn't looked so terrified. Her already pale face had gone translucent as the Mystic barrier. When Breaker fell her knees had buckled, but Bodorson was there to catch her, chortling about breaking her Cellhead.

They snacked on apples and pears packed from the courteous luncheon as they scanned the dust for Breaker.

Jake's half elven ears perked up. There were two robed men standing near the barrier, and he thought he'd heard them talking about the Remi's in a respectful manner.

That alone merited suspicion.

There was another possibility however. Ever since Jake was exposed to the foul stench of exploded Abomination in the Felicity Chamber, he'd felt slightly off. Mild hallucinations were a definite possibility after a snootfull like that. The half elf took a deep breath then a juicy bite of apple, searching for Cronen as pulp trailed down his chin.




An explosion from within the tower's hull sprayed debris over Joshua's cover. The echoing concussion played tricks with the wind amidst the labyrinth of rubble. He hooded his eyes to keep the sand out, barely able to see, but his hearing was excellent. Astarelle's voice had come from the north... or had it echoed from the west? The majority of the wreckage hulked there in a tangled mess. A sickening image of Astarelle trying to pull Arden from beneath iron-shod rubble filled Joshua's mind. In the Cell he was no guardian angel, but he could bring swift mercy.

A small swathe of dust swirled against the wind.

Breaker, stalking his prey.


A sinuous hound lathered in fetid blood slithered around stacks of rubble. It followed a scent, nose down, acidic salivia burning through stone with each step. The wind shifted ever so slightly and it raised its rank maw, steely fangs dripping malice.

A hand holding a dark knife slashed from the dust and cut the beast's throat like butter. It collapsed without a sound, innards steaming in the brisk air. As close to a clean kill as possible where the Remis were concerned.


Breaker wiped the black diamond blade clean on a splintered wooden door and then sheathed it, watching acid eat away at grainy oak. The knife had been torn from Kron Sha'keth's hand in their battle across the rooftops of Underwood. A rare and surgical weapon. He heard another hound snuffling nearby and picked up a fist sized chunk of rubble with an iron support peg jutting out. No, not iron. It was recycled aluminum from Alerar, dyed black at the lowest cost. Breaker stifled a chuckle, mindful of his stealth as he climbed patiently along the tower's remains. Who got paid to build this thing? He made a mental note to connect Orlouge with Bodorson. The dwarf was an excellent mason.

Abom has given Breaker permission to kill 2 hounds, that's the first. Roht and Abom have some optional bunnying permissions from me for the second. If I got the wrong idea about the mystics doing illusions of the fight a la bigscreen I'll change that, just let me know Sei.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle moved through the wreckage as a tottering cloud, for her veil of sand -a mere three paces wide after the ravages of wind and cloying blood- was allying itself with the granite dust. It wasn't a strong alliance. The dust just found it easier to caper within her shroud than out of it; a pact of convenience, as so many are.

I keep to my allies, she told herself resolutely, the train of thought distracting her from the next teetering step. She stumbled. One hand snapped forward to balance. The other held the dagger out to her side as if it might bite at the slightest provocation. Even if they aren't perfect... I keep to them. I'm in no position to ask for more. She wanted to focus on the grey limbo surrounding her, but her mind was stuck... and hot. Her forehead burned like the belly of a furnace. Perhaps it was Roh's disappointment pouring through the divine mark.

Final chamber of the Cell. Her first kill. Was Roh disappointed in her lack of skill, or that she had finally embroiled herself in the blasphemous sport of Corone?

An explosion rocked her from her guilty reverie, followed by the crunching patter of redistributed rubble. Who's there? she shouted in her head, because she dared not say it aloud. Talen? She stilled her breath and listened. There was another sound. Softer, stranger.

It was a rapid snuffling... like a dog tracking. “Arden's?” she asked in a whisper, bewildered, as she lowered her veil to the jagged ground. It pouted outward, launching the accumulated dust in a wide ring around her feet.

Not Arden's dog. The beast was a cruel facsimile, all teeth and meat. If not for the coating of dust, she was sure it would be the color of exposed muscle. An acute nausea welled up in her, making her gag audibly. Thankfully, the beast seemed deaf to it as it continued snorting along the rubble, grazing over sharp spears of wood, wavering flaps of metal, and the low-slung ring of dust that had abandoned her veil. It snorted loudly, then locked an eyeless stare right on her. Teeth gaped from corner to corner, nostrils flaring as if, through them, it could see her as clear as day.

The only movement she allowed herself was a cinching of her grip over the dagger. She felt the heat spread from her brow and coil down through her tense muscles as the beast's back legs also coiled. The priestess almost growled.

She was spared her dignity by a chunk of granite, rocketing horizontally from somewhere past her shoulder. It struck the not-a-dog perfectly, sending it careening to the side in a burst of blood and yelping. The jagged end of a rafter caught it right in the head, and it hung there, drooping low and quiet like a flag at half mast.

“Talen,” Astarelle breathed in relief as she spun. She wanted to hug him, tentacles and all. As long as the tentacles didn't hug her back. She thought she saw a shape move from the projectile's origin, but it was too big to be the pubescent shadow. “Talen?”

Nerves quivering once more, she inched toward the lazy swirling dust where the shape had been. She almost pulled her sand from the ground to veil herself, but then something caught her ear. It was a low murmur. It sounded so much like him, but it was from above. She arched her neck, just barely making out a single nearly-vertical support that had somehow stayed in one piece during the collapse. Perhaps two stories up, its tip was silhouetted against the hazy sun, a spear aiming to make night fall forever. There was already a casualty on the spear, though. A lanky body, narrow in the limbs, still as death.

Astarelle choked. Not you too. She was answered with another blast; softer, closer, more direct. At the foggy edge of her visible range, it kicked up dust and shrapnel, forcing her to shield her eyes. She risked blindness for only the first few seconds of bombardment, then peeked.

Impounded in the rubble, cross-adorned hilt skyward, was the maul that Talen had wielded. Granite gore already covered its dehlar gleam, but it shone to her eyes nonetheless. Thank you, she thought before pushing everything out. Guilt, fatigue, anger; everything was expunged in her new overpowering purpose.

Astarelle ran, the carpet of sand her sole ally, to claim the farewell gift.

Took a couple small (heh) liberties there. If any of this is not cool, let me know and I'll change it as soon as I can. Details in OOC thread.

[Breaker]

Breaker grinned beneath his kerchief and mask of grit. The tin-studded stone had slain the second hound with a satisfying thunk. From his prone position atop a curving spine of rubble, Josh could just make out Astarelle's slim Fallieni form. He exhaled and remained still as she looked in his direction, then followed her line of motion as she sprinted through the dust.

The warhammer protruded from the same long body of wreckage Josh lay upon. Some twenty feet away, it might well have been twenty miles unless he compromised his camouflage. Muscles coiled like steel springs, ready to pounce and intercept the dagger-wielding damsel. Cronen hesitated. What would be the harm in letting her seize Crozius? He'd witnessed the way the hammer poured strength into Talen's form, but judged it would not bring Astarelle near his level. He wanted a fair rematch with the Fallieni, and he wanted it without weapons, like the first time they'd grappled at the Flesh Failures. Josh pondered the paradox as Astarelle's stockinged legs made tiny tornadoes in the dust.

A third hound poked its misshapen snout around a tiered pile of three parapet blocks. Pulled by the dying throes of its fallen brethren, the beast of muscle and bone emerged in Astarelle's wake. So intent was the Fallieni on her destination, she failed to note the familiar snuffling, the outline of its earless head. She established a handhold and foothold on the rubble heap, scrambling toward the summit where the war maul and Talen's stake grew like two generations of odd trees. The hound was almost at her heels, dagger-like fangs dripping ferrous acid.

She won't be able to fight me if it tears out her tendons. Breaker made a split-second decision.

The Granite Phantom rose from the rubble and streaked through clouded air. Dust billowed around his frame, compromising the careful camouflage. One sanded leg extended like a lance. The scuffed boot struck the beast's spine a shuddering blow, sending it snout over paws to lay in a paralyzed, whimpering pile.

The Abomination's traipsing footfalls approached from the north, and Jensen's manic laughter echoed from the south. The sounds of sprinting, wheezing, and heavy breathing surrounded Cronen.

For a fleeting moment he wondered if he'd fallen into a trap orchestrated by Astarelle. It made little difference.

The Abomination stepped around a mountain off rubble, streaked in blood and dust. It placed a gory hand on Cronen's bare chest, drawing its fist back for a haymaker.

No! Too late Josh felt the leech of his powers. Not an energy drain like Lillian Sesthal had employed in the first Cell he entered. More an assimilation of his unique abilities, absorbing arcane knowledge. Breaker growled like a wolf and spun. His sidekick struck Draug with such force the Abomination pitched backwards, disappearing behind curtains of dust.

The click and crunch of Astarelle's climb neared its apex. Jensen's laughter and rapid-fire footfalls buried the Falleini's scurrying as the Immortal burst into sight.

Josh only had time to turn halfway before bony shoulders impacted his thighs and slim arms wrapped around his waist.

Jensen looked half blind and suffocated by dust caked around his eyes and mouth. Wild brown orbs bulged wide, throat open in laughter, choking on the inhale that followed each gout of mirth. Stories painted the Immortal as a glorified brawler, but he had shown refined skill in the Cell. He cackled as he attempted to tackle the Breaker. Not a brawler. A berserker by the purest definition.

He probably thinks I'm Draug, I doubt he can see past his nose. Josh had bowed his knees to absorb the impact, leaning into Jensen's strength, making the Immortal carry his weight. He hammered the slim fighter's spine with a downward elbow, not finding space for crippling power. His thoughts turned to the black dagger in his boot, and he began to bend sideways.

Hazel eyes lit on the tiered parapets, a meter behind Jensen's scrabbling heels. Josh exhaled, emptying his lungs as he had when he escaped the dehlar harness.

He reverse-rolled over Jensen's neck and shoulders, adhering his belly to that bony back, trading positions fluidly. Arms like constricting chains encircled the Immortals waist as the Ixian Knight fought to wriggle free.

Breaker straightened his legs and elevated the Immortal. He arched his back and fell forcefully into a bed of gravel and grime.

Jensen came down beside and behind Josh. He was cackling as his shoulders split the top tiered parapet in half. The ruined rampart caved inward and there was a sick squelching sound. Beneath the broken granite table lurked Cronen's abandoned cable. One end had been sheared to a point in the fall, a point that penetrated the base of Jensen's skull.

The Immortal laughed his last, and the light in his eyes faded.

Breaker rolled away from the grisly spectacle like a log down a gentle slope. Ice magic scoured Draug's bloody palmprint from his chest, replaced by a fresh coat of grime. Josh edged into a nook between two chunks of tower and scanned the snowglobe of an arena, searching for his opponents.

Astarelle stood atop the wreckage next to Talen's lonely stake, Crozius held aloft in both hands. She practically glowed with power.

Josh glimpsed her face as a sudden gust of wind opened a roiling window between them. Those metallic grey eyes shone like whetted steel.

Sharp. Determined. Deadly.

I gained prior permission from everyone involved for the action above, including killing the third hound. If there's anything anyone wants changed, just let me know. Draug assimilated Josh and Astarelle has the Sledge of Strength. Ice magic still impaired as before.

[Arden]

Epilogue

Arden opened his eyes. Instead of the fetid humidity of the arena, or the veil of dust that had risen in the wake of the tower’s fall, two familiar faces greeted him. The red hair of his sister and the marl fringe of his brother were comforting. The stern glare on their faces, on the other hand, was anything but.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Ruby spat, as though to imply she rather he had remained dead. “We were ‘worried’.”

Arden rose slowly, head pressed against his throbbing brow, and eyes narrowing at the glare of the sunlight streaming through the room’s solitary window. Instantly, he knew was far from Radasanth, and far from the caress of Aibron’s healers.

“What…happened?” he erred, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and rolling the stiffness from his shoulders.

“Where. Do. We. Begin.” Duffy said stoically, and with a renewed authority. Arden had not heard that tone in months.

“You succeeded,” Ruby said flatly.

Arden pieced his last moments together, and nodded with appreciation. Most men, after learning that had lost, died, and been reborn would have felt some kind of remorse or shame. This time, it had been the swordsman’s intention.

“She made it?” he asked, eyes pleading, brow beading with sweat.

Ruby slid two stools to the side of the feather bed, and together, the bard and the spell singer perched atop them. Both wore simple white shirts, black trousers, and silver accessories. Arden recognised the garb as belonging to their new venture, Chronicle. That, without needing to ask, told him he was in Brandybuck Castle. How, on the other hand, was a question he would want answering.

“When she drove your sword into your chest, something formed in Astarelle’s mind.”

“…she found the strength you gave her…,” Duffy interrupted. There was a smirk on his face, which Ruby wiped off with a sweeping sideways glance.

“Let’s just say that strength translated into you achieving your goal, but we left shortly after she picked up Crozius, and made it her imperative to attack Joshua Cronen.” Ruby eruditely enunciated her explanation with rolls of her wrists, flicks of her auburn hair, and coy smiles.

Arden blinked. He made to rise from the sheets, but was pressed squarely back into the confines of his bed by the tip of Duffy’s cane. He shook his head.

“I have to help her!” he exclaimed.

“Arden…,” Duffy said, before he realised the need to explain had to come after he had thought about how to explain it.

“…The Cell ended a week ago.” Ruby had no such reservations. She produced a piece of parchment from her pocket, cocked her left leg over her right, and lightly bounced her heel. “We pulled you out of the arena the moment you ‘died’.”

With cold, distrusting eyes, Arden read the note as it thrust in front of him, and took it all in. She was right. He had perished by means of poison, dagger, and dangerous acrobatics, and declared dead exactly as he remembered. He turned his attentions to the portal overlooking the lake, and allowed the calming and idyllic view to settle his frustrations.

“She is going to be fuming with me…,” he reflected. Her sincerity in trying to help him, especially following his request to drive a sword through his heart, had been touching. Somehow, he had remained professional in his efforts, but now…he felt remorse. Who was he to toy with people so earnestly trying to survive in the world?

“Can you blame her?” Ruby spat. She retrieved the note, put it away, and clicked her fingers.

A plucky butler entered the room through the only door, and pushed the portal to with a kick of his hobnails. In one hand, he expectantly balanced a tray of drinks, and in the other, a smile bundle of letters and dossiers Arden recognised as pertaining to Chronicle.

“Thank you, Wilfred,” Ruby pointed to the end of the bed, and waited for the manservant to set the items down at Arden’s feet. He stepped back, expectantly.

“Could you send Leopold up, if he’s awake?” Duffy asked, smiling politely, and catching the old man’s wink.

“Sir, madam,” he said, and practically vanished from the chamber. Despite his age, he was unnervingly quick on his feet.

Arden flopped down onto the pillows, crimson hair striking against the well-starched, pearl white cotton. He stared up at the gothic architecture and the eaves, and tried to work out what Astarelle would think of him in his absence. He did not suppose there was anything he could do about it now. He had played his part in testing the girl’s resolve, and if ever they crossed paths again, it would be in service of ‘the greater good’.

Ruby picked up the letters, unfolded the first, and cleared her throat.

“Sorry brother,” Duffy said glibly, frowning. He caressed his thigh, as though Ruby’s sincerity and constant belittling were driving a dagger into his wound. “But now you’ve found another grain of sand for the hourglass…”

Arden sighed. “We have to keep time turning,” he finished the motto reluctantly.

Chronicle had decided Astarelle, the Fallieni fearless as she was beautiful, was worthy of their support on the path to truth and freedom.

Exit stage right.

[Abomination]

Another round of dust was kicked up by Draug's landing, the Abomination finding himself on his back once more. He placed his hands on his chest, feeling the new broken ribs lurking underneath his torn skin. He coughed and got back up, using a former beam to support himself. He felt something pulsate from within his body, a sensation of power he had never felt before. This is... Cronen?! He had seen Joshua's power in the last round, and read of his exploits in the letter, but he never imagined Breaker's abilities to this extent. He only felt a fraction of the strength and speed, a microcosm of the potential, but it was enough to conclude that he had never assimilated someone more powerful. In addition, Breaker's memories only served to confuse the Abomination: They overlapped, sharing destinies with others, so Draug could not get a read on what kind of man Breaker was.

Where did this guy come from?

He shook his head, feeling an excess of energy building up in his system. Adrenaline pumped through his body, and he felt as though there was a chance for him now. The difference between them was still too great, but he could even the odds with one swing of luck. He grabbed a stone twice the size of his head and started swinging it around, imbuing within it the energy surplus in his body, giving the stone explosive concussive force on impact. After a few rotations, he let it loose toward the base of the idle beam that Astarelle stood on. He needed Crozius, only that would put him on even ground with Breaker's strength.

After throwing the stone, he charged in after it, intending to catch the descending sand princess, turn her into mush with his hands, and take the maul. During the charge, he noticed his surroundings as the dust started to settle, and could almost not believe that the Ixians took each other out. A big smile covered his face, baring his fangs with blood and spit dripping out of his mouth.

I think I understand, mother. This whole time... this whole tournament... it was all leading up to this moment. With all of the Ixians in one spot, incapacitated, the opportunities are endless. It would've tipped them off if I knew. The final step must be... this barrier. As soon as it is down, during all the commotion they will strike. The last one is Breaker. After that, everyone will die!

Draug threw a rock-grenade at the beam Roht is on and wants to give her a big hug.